


Zombies have looked better than this, seriously. Well, sans the whole decaying flesh and craving brains bit, but, really.

by Leafontehwind



Series: Are we all just stumbling along until we get this right? [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Feels, Hurt Derek, M/M, eventual feels, in his own right, seriously, stiles is kind of a caretaker, stiles likes to be needed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-26
Updated: 2012-10-26
Packaged: 2017-11-17 01:41:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/546232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leafontehwind/pseuds/Leafontehwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or that one where Stiles convinced Derek to sleep in his bed for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Zombies have looked better than this, seriously. Well, sans the whole decaying flesh and craving brains bit, but, really.

He made sure that he drove relatively slowly, easing over every bump that came along so that Derek didn’t get too jostled in the back seat. And, really. He was reasonably sure that he needed his head examined. How many people would take a wounded alpha werewolf into their personal care? And under their own roof? Maybe Jackson was right, he was verging on being a werewolf groupie. Maybe there was no turning back. 

Stiles pulled up to his house and noticed that all of the lights were out. Normally, he would have told Derek to use his window, but, given his current state, he really doubted that he could hack it. Best laid plans. Killing the engine, he turned around in his seat, “I’m gonna go make sure Dad’s asleep, alright? Don’t you dare move from your current sprawling position. I’ll be out in less than five minutes to bring you in, comprende?”

He received no answer from the backseat, and so long as there wasn’t any protest, he figured that they were easily in the same boat. At least Derek wasn’t growling at him. that had to be a step forward, right? Or at least it was a step. It was something and Stiles would pretty much take anything right about now. 

“Right,” It only took him the majority of five minutes to ensure that his dad was tucked away in his room. Stiles’ eyes were pretty much adjusted to the darkness and he noted that his dad had an empty tumbler on the nightstand. Holding back a sigh, he closed the door. He knew his dad wouldn’t have had too much, but still that didn’t mean that Stiles wasn’t going to double check what was left in the bottle. Sure, sometimes (very occasionally) he himself had taken some of his dad’s whiskey. But he always took pretty serious charge his father’s alcohol intake.

"Alright big fella," Stiles yanked open the door to his jeep as quietly as possible. He was pretty sure that when people needed to be sneaky was when they made the most noise. He really really freaking hoped that this was just one of those nights that his dad was too tired and either didn't wake up or assumed whatever noises roused him just happened to be Stiles' apparently inherent clumsiness.

Derek seemed to be pretty compliant, slinging his arm around Stiles' neck and seemed to be trying really freaking trying not to put all of his weight on him. Which was good since Stiles remembered how heavy the guy was to hold up, granted, there had been a great deal of water involved in the whole thing, but still. That was a long chunk of time to by helping someone keep afloat who was essentially dead weight. At least this time Derek could assist in keeping himself moderately upright, which, hey any help was still help at the moment. 

This was his life now. The times in the epic life of Stiles Stilinski where he seems to be constantly at the beck and call of all the werewolves in the pack whether they realized that they needed his help or not. At least Derek hadn't fought him about it, which really and truly was the prime example of how fucking bad off the Alpha was.

Reality could've knocked him off of his feet with this little revelation. Derek. Wasn't. Fighting. With. Him. Shit. If he wasn't so preoccupied with getting the muscled mass of a man into his house without waking up Papa Stilinski (and really, of course the first person he's willingly sneaking into his house had to be because of the pack, because this was his life and it was wholly unfair) then he could give his undivided attentions to worrying about that. For now? Well, for now he could multi-task. He could do that, sometimes he was a champ at that.

They moved painstakingly slow through the front door, easing themselves up the stairs and down the hall in less time then Stiles thought. Maybe they were just getting used to maneuvering themselves (yes, Stiles included. Thank you very, very much. Seriously, everyone’s habit of doubting his grace and agility is just plain hurtful) efficiently when the situation called for it; even with scary disembowel-y angry looking and life threatening wounds.

Shuffling into his room, they took slow and almost measured steps towards his bed before Stiles helped Derek lower himself onto the edge of his bed. The last few steps seemed to be difficult for the werewolf, there was more sweat beading on his forehead and his breathing had been labored, seriously labored. Stiles was about ten seconds away from calling the pack and Deaton so they could use their combined knowledge and fix the alpha. stiles would take the brooding stalking version of the man if it meant he wasn't going to just roll over and die on him. In his room. He wasn't sure he could ever sleep in his bed after someone died in it.

Was there a way to Google the--

"Stiles," his eyes snapped back into focus, realizing there was an indeterminable amount of time where he had just been staring at Derek, his heart pounding furiously in his chest as his hand still rested on the other dude's shoulder and he immediately wondered if the lack of consideration for someone's personal space could be somewhat contagious.

"Uh yeah?" Derek's eyes cut toward the still open door of his room and Stiles nodded, resisting the urge to smack his hand against his forehead as his cheeks burned something furious. No big deal, he was probably not functioning on full capacity due to the fact that there was a half naked wounded alpha on his bed who may or may not survive the night.

Closing the door as softly as he could, Stiles managed a few hopefully calming breaths and he slid the chain on the door. Sure, his dad didn't exactly approve of it but it was there on the understanding that it would only be used if Stiles needed, ahem, privacy. Add in a few furry pack problems and that was pretty much his entire life summed up with a nice little bow.

He shook his head turning around and flicked on the lights finally. If it were possible, Derek looked worse. Ghosts looked better in some of the horror movies he had seen. Hell, some zombies even looked better. Not the ones who had been the dead for a while with the limbs falling off and decaying flesh with the bones all poking out and everything.

“Okay, okay,” Stiles nodded a couple of times, his mouth working open and shut before he walked over to his computer chair and dropped himself gracelessly into it. “Want to get to the part where you let me in on what happened the other night? I mean, I get it that you didn’t need little old me for tracking since my nose doesn’t quite hack it compared to all of, you know, basically all of you. But clearly, you’re not alright. Scott and Isaac seem to think you’re fine and you look nothing like fine. If fine was a place you’d be pretty much be on the other side of the country, no the entire planet, maybe even across the galaxy because you’re lightyears away from being fine.”

Derek closed his eyes with both hands resting in his lap. He was still taking shallow breaths that seemed to take a decent amount of his strength. Stiles figured that he was trying to bring himself together to maybe sum up the events of the other night. Stiles waited in his own patient way, or what he thought was his own patient way with his knee bouncing and fingers drumming against the arm of his chair. “Tomorrow.”

“Seriously? Tomorrow?” Stiles gaped at the alpha and was about to start pushing him for even the slightest bit of information but stopped when there was a low growl emanating from the werewolf. “Alright, alright tomorrow. You should probably get some sleep, right? Take a load off and let your supernatural healing factor kick in.”

Standing up, Stiles moved to his dresser and pulled out a pair of sweats and a t-shirt that he figured might be big enough to fit Derek even though he wasn’t sure if wearing shirts over a wound that big that was still working on healing itself was a good idea. It probably would be a bit itchy and about ten shades of uncomfortable.

“Okay, these should fit or at least they should fit like, well enough. You’d think that I’d be able to invest in a few sizes of generic werewolf crashing clothes in varying sizes for different situations.” Really, he should actually look into that. Maybe have a duffle bag stored in the back of his baby for similar occasions. At least he’d be fully prepared for whatever came along. Because, seriously, the fact that he hadnt’t thought of this before was a severe oversight on his part. 

Stiles handed the clothes off, briefly wondering if Derek would need help changing. _But_ then his cheeks flared a harsh shade of red at the thought of undressing Derek and c’mon. Seriously, his life. It wasn’t like he had to share the locker room with twenty other dudes and Stiles had seen things. Though, he supposed it wasn’t the same. They weren’t Derek freaking Hale and he wasn’t helping any of them out of their clothes. Not that there was anything remotely sexual or hot about the situation right now, especially when the damn sourwolf looked like he was knock knock knocking on Death’s door. That and he didn’t think of Derek like that. Not really. Or mostly.

"I'm not taking your bed,” Derek said as he pulled the plain white shirt over his head carefully, his mouth setting in a tight line as he lifted one arm after the other to go through the arms of the shirt. Stiles had encountered the pains of moving with some minor injuries, serious bruises and stitches and that had hurt like a mother fucker. So, he couldn’t even imagine how badly pretty much any movement hurt for Derek, even if he had a higher threshold for pain and a healing ability, it clearly was taking far too long to right itself. 

“Why not? Would you rather sleep on the floor?” He gestured to the floor that he wasn’t entirely sure when the last time he had vaccumed it. Since, you know, he was a teenager and cleanliness being next to godliness wasn’t exactly something that was on the forefront of his mind, especially with pretty much everything that had been going on in his life lately. He was tidy enough for a teenager especially considering everything he dealt with on a day to day basis. “Listen dude, I’m not going to sleep or anything so if you don’t sleep in my magically comfortable bed, it’s going to go completely unused so you might as well just finish changing and lay the frak down.”

And that was how Stiles got Derek to sleep in his bed for the first time with no complaint. Well, okay, little complaint. There was some complaining but the wolf seemed to be too taxed to actually fully commit to the whole wearing Stiles down thing. Plus, Stiles liked to think is resolve was pretty solid on this whole thing. Especially on the whole him staying up and keeping watch. If he fell asleep and something happened well he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. That and he was pretty sure that his brain wasn’t going to shut up on theories about what was going on with Derek. Even with little, or really, no information, Stiles was still going to attempt and figure something out. It was what he did.


End file.
